


The Trials and Tribulations of Interdimensional Travel

by Lavendermagik



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, F/M, Humor, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendermagik/pseuds/Lavendermagik
Summary: You're adaptable. You go with the flow. But they could have at least asked first.Or, you're yanked from your universe into one filled with warring angels and have to deal until they're ready to send you back. It wouldn't be so bad if the guy who kept saving your life had even a modicum of tact.
Relationships: Balthazar/reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	1. In which you find your circumstances dramatically changed and lose a potential coffee date to murder.

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have a slight obsession with The French Mistake. And changing the rules of science/magic to suit my needs. But in my defense, I do what I want.

The guy had been nice. You know, before he’d abruptly become dead. That was probably the saddest part. Not that witnessing murder was ever really a barrel of laughs, but if Grant (Graham? Griffin? Something like that.) had been a jerk you might not have felt so shell shocked. But instead the lanky page had been sweet and friendly and just flirtatious enough to let you know he was interested without coming on too strong. He’d started by complimenting your boots (a solid opening), and then further assured a good showing by offering to take you to craft services when you mentioned being hungry. 

He’d held the door open for you to walk in first, laughing as you told him you’d never even seen the show whose set your friend had dragged you to – she was the super fan, and you were merely her unwilling accomplice. He followed through the doorway on your heels, but then pulled up sharply as you did, glancing around the unfamiliar room. This didn’t appear to be craft services but instead the set for some kind of cabin that had taken storm damage. The whole thing seemed out of place and almost overly done in its realism – the storm was still raging outside the broken window. You looked up at his smooth face and thick eyelashes to see only confusion. He turned back to look out the open door, only to find the studio replaced with a front porch and more storm.

“What is this? Some kind of special effects?”

“No, I don’t-” Then he’d made a choking sound, eyes wide and lips wet. His face was so distracting that you didn’t immediately notice the bit of silver protruding from his diaphragm until deep red had begun to spread through his light blue polo shirt. The silver disappeared with another, higher noise ripped from him, and he stayed up as if suspended for another one-two-three seconds before his knees buckled and he fell face down. You tracked his progress, heart speeding up though your brain was still about a full minute behind. The door slammed shut.

Movement brought your attention away from the fallen page, and you found a rather imposing man standing in the corner where he must have been hidden behind the door. He held what looked like a long, very shiny dagger, now quite damp and red. If this were a movie, or even that TV show you’d recently confessed to never having seen, you’d scream because some serial killer or monster or whatever those two tall, unnecessarily handsome men killed every week had just murdered the guy you were pretty sure was one more smile away from asking you to get coffee. But this was real life, and these kinds of thing don’t actually happen, you see.

Still, the man or monster was looking at you with an unfamiliar expression and raising his weapon like he thought he was going to stab you, too, and that didn’t seem like something that should be happening in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. So you took a step backwards, even though your absentee brain recognized he could still easily reach you and probably had more experience with this murdering thing if recent events were any indication. Then his blade was blocked by another dagger, equally as long and shiny, shinier even because it wasn’t covered in Grant’s blood. You followed the arm that held it to a man in a trench coat just as he shoved you backwards and sent you stumbling. You felt something at your back right before hands landed on your shoulders to hold you upright. 

“Better hold on tight.”

The world blurred and spun and other words that were generally brought up when a person was about to pass out, and frankly you looked forward to the break being unconscious would give you. But you didn’t pass out. Instead you found yourself outside, a much drier outside, and still very much conscious. You stared and blinked and eventually remembered to breath and then somehow managed not to vomit on the exhale. Still, the nausea hit you hard, and you doubled over with your hands on your knees so you could breathe at the ground instead.

“Don’t worry – your first time is always the hardest. It’ll pass eventually.”

That voice from before. He was still behind you. You wanted to whip around to face the potential threat and demand an explanation, but your head and stomach had a quick committee meeting and vetoed that proposal. Too afraid to open your mouth, all you could manage was a muffled whine.

“If you’re going to be sick, kindly do it elsewhere. These shoes are Italian leather.”

You took a deep breath and held it to ask, “What’s going on?” 

“Well, that’s complicated.”

You slowly straightened and turned to finally see this man whose accent you couldn’t quite identify and whose V-neck was dangerously low. “That’s not an answer. That’s actually the opposite of an answer and really doesn’t help me right now.”

“My apologies, sweetie, but if you’ll wait just a tick-" a fluttering behind you interrupted, and he smiled. “Ah, Castiel, why don’t you explain to the nice girl what happened?”

The man in the trench coat from before was back, currently glaring at V-neck over Graham’s glassy-eyed body. Your nausea surged even stronger.

“He’s dead, isn’t he? Like, actually dead. This isn’t some kind of elaborate prank the studio likes to play on visitors.”

You vaguely noticed the two men (the living ones) exchange a look before you doubled over again moaning.

“I am sorry you were brought into this.” The second man’s voice was deeper and very much akin to what you’d imagine sand would sound like in a food processor.

“What is _this_? Where am I?”

“Another dimension.”

You laughed, though it sounded suspiciously like choking. “A what now?”

“Another dimension, another world, somewhere over the rainbow, are you catching up yet?”

Deep breath, stand straight, glare at the rude one. “Okay, okay, sure, I’m in another dimension. _Why_ am I in another dimension?”

“Because we needed to send the Winchesters to your dimension.”

Winchesters. Why did that sound familiar?

“Still not seeing what that has to do with me.”

“You can’t just move matter around willy nilly, can you? You'll end up throwing everything out of whack. Two apes go in, two apes come out.”

Did… did V-neck just call you an ape?

“What Balthazar means is,” trench coat glared at his compatriot, “in order for Dean and Sam to transfer to your dimension, equal matter needed to be exchanged.”

“Dean and Sam.” Connections lit up on your brain like those old telephone boards you’d seen women working in movies. “Winchester. Like in the show? Those two really tall guys who kill monsters and stuff.”

“Sounds accurate enough.”

“Why not just bring those two actors who play the guys?”

“Oh no, that wouldn’t work. See, most of us exist over various dimensions, but we can only focus on one at a time. They are there and here, so there’s not two things to swap. You, however, do not exist here, so bingo bango, you’re the next contestant on The Price is Equivalency.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Look, it’s all very technical and scientific, and we don’t have time to get into it right now.”

“You can’t just cite science and hope no one questions you!”

“Unless you can find someone else to explain the quantum mechanics of parallel universes you’re out of luck.” People shouldn’t get smile lines by their eyes when they’re being snarky.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t-” Your eyes landed on Griffin of their own accord, and you somehow managed to swallow and cough at the same time. You ripped your attention back to trench coat because he seemed like the more agreeable of the two. “So what are you? Some kind of wizards?”

V-neck snorted, but trench coat’s expression remained unmoved. “I am Castiel, and he is Balthazar. We are angels of the Lord.”

“None of this seems very angelic to me.”

“We’re fighting a war.”

“Wait,” your eyes darted between them, “you’re not being hyperbolic are you? You mean you’re literally angels.”

“Look who’s catching on.”

“So that guy back there – he was a demon or something?”

Castiel’s lips tightened, and his eyes took on a dark sheen. “He was also an angel.”

“You guys are fighting against each other? How is that possible? I thought…” You desperately tried to remember what you knew of Christian theology. “I thought after you got rid of Satan and his followers that God ran a pretty tight ship.” 

“Unfortunately, daddy hasn’t been around for quite some time.”

You elected to ignore that the one named Balthazar ( _Balthazar?_ ) just called God daddy, which was uncomfortable on so many levels. “What does that mean? Where could he go? He’s God!”

“If you get an answer, be a lamb and tell the rest of us, won’t you?”

“So you guys misplace God, and instead of finding him, you start an angelic civil war?” Hearing the words out loud felt like a physical shock. “What am I saying? This is stupid. I’m going insane.”

“I apologize again for the inconvenience-” 

“ _Inconvenience?_ He’s dead!” You jabbed a finger at Grantham's body, and Castiel had the decency to look at least a little regretful. 

“I did not intend for that to happen. I should have been there sooner to intercept Virgil.”

“Fat lot of good that does him now.”

“Not that this chat isn’t just fascinating, but we really should be going.” Balthazar did not seem regretful in the least – just impatient.

“Where are we going?”

“ _We_ need to go retrieve a cache of weapons. _You_ just sit tight and try not to die until we’re ready to switch back.”

“No, no, no, you can’t bring me here, make me watch the cute PA get murdered, tell me God’s on vacation, and then leave me with a dead body in a world I don’t know anything about!”

“Well, when you lay it all out like that, it sounds bad.”

“She has a point, Balthazar.”

“Thank you!”

“I will retrieve the weapons. You remain to stand guard.”

Wait, what?


	2. In which multiple windows are shattered and we go a little heavy on the dialogue.

You hadn’t meant for the nice one to leave you with Snarky McTightpants. Apparently, he was on the same page. “I never signed up for babysitting duty.”

But Castiel had already vanished with a sound like someone flipping through a phone book, leaving Balthazar to mutter something rude under his breath. 

“I didn’t sign up for interdimensional travel, so it looks like this day isn’t going great for either of us.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and indicated Grayson’s body with his head. “On the bright side, it appears to be going worse for your friend there.”

“He wasn’t my friend.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to clarify that. “Though he was on track to be my coffee date.”

“Pity,” he said with no pity at all. 

“You’re an angel. Can’t you just miraculously raise him from the dead or something?”

“His soul has already moved on, and retrieving a soul is no easy thing. Just ask Castiel. Oh wait, you can’t.” 

He turned sharply to pace, the movement shifting his jacket enough that you noticed the dark stain on his shirt for the first time. “Are you bleeding?”

“Done now, though my lung has yet to return to full functionality.”

“I didn’t know angels could bleed.”

“Truthfully, it is the vessel which bleeds.”

“Vessel?”

“This human body I am forced to inhabit.”

“You’re, like, sharing real estate with another guy in there?”

“I did ask first.”

“O…kay…”

“Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I find waiting tedious.”

Another rotation of the world found you standing amongst thick bushes and a few trees. Your recently settled stomach rolled over again, but not as strongly. He must have been telling the truth about the first time being the worst. “Where are we now?”

“A quaint little town in Europe I can’t quite remember the name of.”

“Why did you bring him?” You glanced down at Garth and then quickly away. 

“You need him to get home. Two came out, two have to go back in if we’re to fetch back both our lumberjacks. Besides, I couldn’t very well leave him in the street, now could I?”

“I don’t know, you appear to be leaving him in a bush!” you called after his retreating back as you scurried to catch up, stumbling out abruptly onto cobblestones. 

“Not to worry. It’s unlikely he’ll be discovered.”

“ _Unlikely?_ ”

“Didn’t you say something about coffee?”

He led the way into a warmly lit building where he was enthusiastically greeted in a language that sounded half mumbled, but then you’d never completed your foreign languages credit, so who were you to judge? He replied smoothly and slid into a beautifully crafted chair at a small round table, leaving you to follow suit. A waiter floated over and placed a porcelain cup of dark liquid and some sort of flakey pastry in front of Balthazar, and then said something to you. Balthazar looked up from his cup with an inquisitive glance in your direction. “I’m sorry, did you want something?”

Honestly, no. Your stomach still hadn’t settled completely. But it would have been polite of him to ask before now. “I didn’t know angels needed to eat.”

“I don’t need multiple partners for a satisfactory sexual experience either, but I do enjoy it.” He smirked as you pulled a face. Meeting the real article sure did decrease the value of those little angel figurines your mother collected. He must have communicated your denial to the waiter, because the man walked away as fluidly as he appeared. 

“Isn’t it weird that he didn’t even question the fact that your shirt is covered in-” You paused when you saw that his shirt was now perfectly clean, not even a wrinkle. You found his smirk still firmly in place when you looked back at his face. “Angels have weird powers.”

It’s a strange feeling, sitting in a coffee shop in an unknown European locale with an angel who may or may not have two working lungs, knowing that there’s a body in the bushes outside. Balthazar, for his part, seemed wholly unbothered and quite content to ignore you. You ran your nails over the glass tabletop, absently trying to estimate how many coffee beans had been enameled within (a lot). You crossed your legs and almost swore when your foot connected with the heavy metal bar underneath. Eventually, you could no longer take the silence. “If Castiel is getting the weapons, what are those other guys doing in my dimension?”

“Creating what I would assume is a rather comedic distraction.”

“You don’t seem to like them very much.”

“They are humans, and by definition humans are quite unbearable.”

You waited for him to throw in a ‘no offense’ or ‘present company excluded,’ but he merely spread cream on his pastry and took a bite. “You’re a pretty lousy substitute coffee date.”

You could actually see him load his snarky comeback, but instead he looked over your shoulder and muttered, “Damn.”

“What is it?” You wondered if someone had come across Gregg’s body. You started to turn and look out the front window, but his suddenly sterner voice stopped you. 

“I’m going to need you to be extremely cooperative during the next few moments.”

“Why?”

“We have company.”

Such ominous words. “What do you need me to do?”

“Duck.”

Luckily, you reacted immediately and without question, because a second later he’d seized the table and flung it over your head and through the glass behind you. You barely heard its shatter and the resulting screams of other patrons over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Even as he was pulling you to your feet, you were trying to process that a man of his stature had thrown a table you’d hardly been able to shift through a window far enough away that no shards came near you. Then the world spun again, and you opened your eyes to a deserted playground.

“Stay,” he ordered and disappeared with the phone book noise. Two seconds later he reappeared crouching next to Gary’s body. 

“What was all that?”

“Raphael’s minions caught up to us.”

“Raphael? Like the Ninja Turtle?”

“Like the archangel – the one who wants us all dead.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “Shame. I did like that café.”

“Are they coming here? What do we do?”

“Calm down, for one thing.” He apparently found your distress over potential homicide distasteful. “My patronage of that establishment is well known. Someone must have informed on us. It’s unlikely they’ll track us here.”

“There you go using that word again.”

“You made it out all in one piece, yes? A thank you wouldn’t go awry.”

“I don’t think gratitude is appropriate when you’re the one who got me into this in the first place.”

“The only reason I’m looking after your hide is because Cas can’t be bothered to do it. I’d just as soon let you fend for yourself against my vengeful brethren.”

“Right there! _Your_ vengeful brethren. That brings this squarely back to being your fault.”

“I don’t-” He cut off, head turning slightly as if to listen. You tensed, expecting another angelic attack. “Ah, another portal has been opened.”

“How do you know?”

“I can sense it.” With a flap and a twist you found yourself hiding behind the dumpster of some low budget motel. You looked up just in time to see a man leap through one of the room windows and disappear. 

“That was the guy from earlier. The one who killed…” It was really a wonder Greer hadn’t attracted scavengers yet. “Do you have to bring him with us everywhere?”

“We must be prepared to exchange back at a moment’s notice.”

“Yeah, but he’s just so…”

“Extremely deceased?”

You exhaled slowly and turned away from the body back to the shattered window. You watched something small and furry delicately leap through, managing to avoid all the glass. “Is that a cat? Did the bad angel swap himself with a cat?”

“So it would seem.”

“You knew that was an option, and you still dragged two humans here?”

“Spells such as these are not exact. You have to be satisfied with whatever is available.”

You looked around at the deserted parking lot, which glowed a foreboding greenish color in the light of the lampposts. “What do we do now?”

“Are you always this inquisitive?”

You were so flabbergasted at his sheer audacity that you couldn’t even form the words ‘are you kidding?’ He heaved the sigh of the much put upon. “Virgil is likely to return here. In the meantime, we’ll find a room.” He disappeared and shortly a nearby door opened. “This one looks free.”

You hardly noticed the body vanish from beside you. “Do you ever pay for anything?”

“Not if it can be helped. Much more fun to see what can be liberated by other means. Take this for example.” He presented a bottle of wine. “It was left unattended in one of the other rooms. Tell me, who drinks wine is a place like this?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to.”

“I think I deserve a drink after the day I’ve had.”

“The day _you’ve_ had?” You made it two steps into the room before you stopped to stare. “Can you get a communicable disease from a bed?”

“Feel free to spend the night outside with the garbage if that’s where you feel most comfortable.”

“When all the other angels were singing ‘glory to the newborn king,’ were you insulting his fashion sense instead?”

“Don’t get me started on Jesus. Or that bloody song. Like we have time to go around collectively announcing every time a baby is born.”

You decided the bathroom could provide you with a momentary escape, but you paused halfway there to look back at Balthazar. “Am I going to find Gavin’s body in the tub if I go in there?”

“No, I’ve stashed him somewhere until we need him.”

“Oh…thanks.”

“Pardon?”

“Thank you, you know, for putting him somewhere else. I appreciate the consideration.”

His pursed his lips for a moment before responding, as if in thought. “People don’t usually say that to me.”

“Is that because it’s rarely deserved?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve rather selflessly saved the day at least three times.”

“I’ll be sure to nominate you for sainthood the next time I see the pope.”

Turns out, the bathroom wasn’t a place you wanted to spend much time either. In the midst of washing your hands, you saw movement peripherally and couldn’t know for sure whether it was caused by a living creature or the flickering light overhead. You chose to play it safe and hightailed it back to the other room, where you found Balthazar sipping wine with his feet kicked up on the wobbly particle board table, and you realized nowhere here was safe. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Trying to listen.”

You paused, but only heard the hum that is ubiquitous to all motel rooms. “To what?”

“What did those simpletons call it? Ah, yes, angel radio.”

“Angel radio? What is it, like a top 20 countdown of hymns? Gregorian chants?”

“It’s how we all communicate with each other, though I believe they are being deliberately quiet.”

“More CB than FM, got it.” You cautiously sat on the very edge of the bed and eyed his glass, absently wondering where it came from. “How much of that do you need to drink before you don’t care how many questions I ask?”

“Darling, I require the contents of a small liquor store to even begin to feel tipsy.” He sighed dramatically and waved a hand. “However, the cable appears to be out, so you may as well provide the entertainment. What would you like to know? Origin of the universe? Secret of life? How they get those little ships in the bottles?”

“Why are the angels fighting?”

“Near universal knowledge, and you want to know about our dysfunctional family?”

“Seems relevant currently.”

Another sigh. “We are of two different schools of thought. One wishes to bring about the apocalypse, the other doesn’t. Not much middle ground for compromise there.”

You dragged your teeth over your lip. “And which side are you?”

“I happen to quite like the world. But then, I am not your typical heavenly host.”

“Obviously. So the whole peace on earth, goodwill towards men, not so much?”

“I’m afraid my brothers aren’t fans of peace, and even less so of men.”

“And it was another angel that…” you made a clumsy approximation of a stabbing motion, “shanked you?”

“Fortunately, with a crowbar and not an angel blade or that would have been the end of little ol’ me.”

“Angel blade?”

He raised a suddenly equipped hand and presented another one of those long shiny daggers. “One of the few things that can kill an angel.”

He held it out as if offering it for closer examination, but you kept your hands in your lap. “They’re pretty good at killing humans, too.”

“Ah, yes, your date.” He lowered the dagger back out of sight. 

“He wasn’t my date yet. I don’t even really know his name. But he was nice. He didn’t deserve… that.”

“I am sorry.” He sounded sincere, which made you wonder if he’d misestimated his alcohol tolerance. “It’s never easy to lose people, especially to a war that’s not your own.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“You’ve not had trouble so far.”

“It’s hard to reconcile you with war. Don’t get me wrong, your table-fu skills were very impressive, but you just seem like more of a lover than a fighter.”

“You have no idea.” His expression was smug and full of implication and made your nose wrinkle. Then it washed away like marker off a whiteboard, and he returned to contemplating his wine. “Difficult as it may be to believe, I was once a full-blown soldier, part of the same battalion as Castiel.”

“So when he came asking for help?”

“I hemmed and hawed, and then I saved his life.”

“One of your three selfless acts?”

“Probably the first.”

“And now everyone wants you dead.”

“To be fair, most wanted that before Cassie came a-knocking. I did happen to fake my own death and make off with a substantial accumulation of weapons.”

“The weapons Castiel is getting?”

“The very same.”

“I’m sorry. For how screwed up your family is,” you clarified when he merely arched an eyebrow. “I mean, my family isn’t perfect, but we’ve never tried to kill each other. Except for one Thanksgiving that could be debated, but it’s not like great-aunt Polly was going to do a lot of damage with a butter knife anyway.”

“No use being sorry. Best case scenario: Castiel unseats Raphael and I go back to my life of debasement and debauchery. I don’t suppose you know the French word for twelve?”

“Do you ever turn off?” 

“We all cope in different ways. One day I’m hoping I’ll never have to fight again. No war, all love.”

“Best case scenario.” You watched him toast you and drain his glass. “I hope those guys are okay. Did they know avenging angels might be coming after them?”

“I’m sure they’ve figured it out by now.” He made a great production of rolling his eyes at your horrified expression. “You don’t have to worry about those two. They’ve started and stopped the world ending several times. I’m sure they can handle one angel.”

Hmm. Maybe you should have given that show a look after all. 

Without warning, your stomach gave a loud, obnoxious bid for attention. Balthazar merely raised an eyebrow. “Feeling peckish?”

“It’s been a while since I ate anything. I was on my way to get food when I quantum leaped.”

“Well, far be it from me to leave you in need.” He dropped his feet and stood in one smooth motion, and only then did you realize his glass was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll go see what I can scrounge up.”

“You’re going to bring me food?”

“Can’t have you waking the neighbors with your hunger pangs. Besides, Castiel will never let me have another pet if I don’t take good care of you.”

He vanished before you could formulate a sufficiently cutting reply, and you were left in solitude to contemplate your life as it currently stood. 

Deciding a little bacteria wouldn’t really make the whole situation that much worse, you laid back and closed your eyes, more exhausted than you could ever remember being. You must have dozed off, because you didn’t immediately recognize the noise that roused you. A moment later the rapping came again. You dragged yourself upright and made your way to the front door.


	3. In which you have an unsanitary encounter with an archangel, a violent encounter with not an angel, and an anticlimactic encounter with an unconscious angel.

“Since when do you use doors?” The last word trailed off when you found not Balthazar, but an unfamiliar woman, who seemed wholly unperturbed by your unorthodox greeting. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone who doesn’t use doors, apparently.”

“Uh, yeah, inside joke.” You were getting the strangest unsettling vibe from her. She was almost unnaturally calm. “Is there something I can help you with?”

You hoped she wasn’t with the motel, here to call the cops on you for squatting. How were you supposed to explain that a licentious angel had let you in? 

“I hope so. I’m looking for someone. Someone who, coincidentally, also doesn’t use doors.”

Uh oh. 

“It’s just me here, and as you can see, I’m really good with doors.”

“Ah, but you are expecting someone.”

“Wishful thinking. A shot in the dark really. Actually, I think I might have been stood up, and as you’ve probably surmised this is one of those pay-by-the-hour places, so…”

“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.” She twitched one of her arms, and a familiar blade slide from her sleeve. You barely had time to think another ‘uh oh’ before her free hand closed around your throat and pinned you to the wall. The door slowly closed with a foreboding slam, impossibly all the way on the other side of the room. 

“I take it you’re not turndown service?” Your voice sounded squished, traveling as it had through your constricted esophagus. 

She smiled almost pleasantly, and then very casually used her angel blade to slice a thin line across your cheekbone. Now, up to this point, you’d lived a life with very little physical detriment. The closest you’d come to anything like this was a cut knuckle from an out-of-control X-acto knife. You were not prepared for the burning pain or the cold, damp feeling of the welling blood as it cooled. 

“I will require absolute honesty from here on out. It is unwise to lie to one of God’s children.”

“Aren’t we all God’s children? Supposedly?”

“Some of us are closer to the tree than others. Now tell me – where can I find my brothers?”

“Have you tried Craigslist?”

She raised the point of the blade to your cheek again, right below the first cut. You tried to lean away, but her grip was like steel. “Try again, child.”

“Lady, I’m not from around here. I don’t know where to find the nearest McDonald’s, let alone your brothers. I would suggest looking elsewhere, because right now you’re just getting your shiny dagger dirty for nothing.”

“Oh, that does not concern me. Blades can be cleaned, and you’ve hardly even begun to bleed.” The point ran lightly back and forth over your skin without breaking it. “But perhaps you are not the type to respond to the stick. Perhaps you are the type who responds to the carrot. I can send you home, you know. I will need to summon my associate, which you understand by now requires equivalent exchange. Tell me, and you can be that exchange. I doubt the Winchesters are still alive to present a similar offer.”

You hadn’t considered that. If that angel was as good at stabbing people as he seemed, those two guys could very well be dead by now. Did they need to still be alive to switch back? Balthazar didn’t seem to think Granite’s death would interfere, but then he was here and they were there. You really should have asked more questions. 

“Well?”

Still, this lady, whoever she was, didn’t seem like the kind of person to put much stock in keeping up her end of bargains. And more than that, she was a jerk, and you made it a rule not to negotiate with jerks. 

“I already told you I can’t help. What do you want from me?”

“I would advise you not to test my patience. I am not known for my mercy.”

“And I’m not know for my ability to incorporate outside criticism. Looks like we’re at a stalemate.”

She stared at you levelly, blade returning to its original spot. Her face was a carefully crafted façade of indifference, but you thought you might have detected a small amount of satisfaction seeping into the edges. “You bring this on yourself.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the pain of the second slice. 

“Stop.” The word was sharp, the edges honed with compressed anger. Your eyes shot back open to see Balthazar standing by the table with a bag in hand. A few seconds later the smell of bacon hit your nose and you grimaced. You didn’t was to have any negative associations with bacon due to trauma. 

“There you are, Balthazar. We were just talking about you.” 

“Not surprising – I am a hot topic.” The blade on your cheek moved incrementally, and you winced at the new sting. “I said stop.”

“And I heard you, but I feel the need to make a point. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you here, at the scene of my own portal? That I wouldn’t sense something not of our world when it so obviously doesn’t belong here?”

“It would be silly to say yes now.”

“Tell me where the weapons are, Balthazar.”

“I don’t have them.”

“Where?”

“What difference does it make? You can’t get at them without the key.”

“A problem which will soon be remedied. Now tell me where they are before this chimpanzee becomes a filet.”

You knew Balthazar couldn’t tell her. Castiel was in the process of retrieving the weapons, and revealing the location would be like lobbing a nuclear missile his way. But he also didn’t seem keen on letting her kill you in front of him. He must not be able to teleport you away with her grip on your throat, so the obvious solution was to get away from her. How to do so was somewhat less obvious. A contest of strength was out of the question, and you didn’t have any weapons handy. 

So what does one do to get out of the stranglehold of an angry angel? In your case, you wait until she’s about to make another threat, and then you stick all your fingers into her mouth. 

The look on her face was absolutely priceless, not that you took a lot of time to admire it. The moment her grip loosened, you dropped all of your weight and scuttled sideways as soon as you hit the floor. The world blurred and you appeared in a field, long grass tickling your elbows. Balthazar was in front of you immediately, pressing a hand to your breastbone and pushing. A jolt of pain shot through you, and you jerked back, feeling betrayed. 

“What was that?”

“I infused you with sigils to prevent angels from sensing you.”

“Infused where, on my lungs?” 

“Engraved them on your ribs, actually. I would recommend keeping all your bones intact, because an x-ray will raise quite a few questions.”

The grass below you changed to sand, and the air filled with the noise of lapping waves and the pungent smell of salt water. You blinked in surprise at the nearby ocean. 

“Just in case.” He reached a hand towards your face, and you threw up both arms like you might fend him off with all the fighting skills you’d procured watching Jackie Chan movies. 

“Now what are you doing? Tattooing a poem on my spleen?”

“Calm down.” He pulled one of your arms away and put two fingers on your forehead. A rush of tingling warmth washed through you. Only after he pulled back and you’d stared at him for another fifteen seconds did you realize your cheek didn’t hurt anymore. You touched the area to find it smooth and unmarred, as if nothing had happened. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

He remained crouched in front of you, his expression strangely somber, like he was appraising you. “You held it together quite well back there. Not many humans would have the audacity to back talk an archangel or attempt such a… creative method of escape.”

“On that note, I could really use some hand sanitizer. Hold on, did you say archangel?”

“Raphael in the flesh. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

“How would I know Raphael would be a woman?”

“Raphael is a wavelength of celestial intent. His vessel is a woman.”

“Sorry I’m not more well-versed in angelic gender identities.” 

“You are forgiven.” He stood and held out a hand to help you up. The same tingling warmth that had healed you seemed to radiate from his skin. 

“So… what now?”

“Unfortunately, I was forced to leave your dinner behind, but if I remember correctly there is a boardwalk further down the coastline with various food stands.”

“Are you asking me to take a long walk on the beach?”

“That wasn’t my original intention, but if mortal peril is what revs your engine, then far be it from me to leave you in a lurch.”

“Food now, halfhearted seduction attempts later.” You started to slog through the soft sand in the direction he’d indicated but still managed to pick up his muttered ‘halfhearted?’ from behind you.

It did turn out to be a rather nice walk on the beach. There were a few other people around, but you all made the mutual decision to ignore each other. Balthazar was a constant, silent presence at your side, hands in his pockets and eyes on the horizon.

“Hey,” you finally broke the quiet, “thanks for, you know, not abandoning me or anything.”

“My pleasure.”

“Really?”

“I could have been stuck with worse charges. At least you didn’t pop out wearing flannel.”

“What?” You skirted a pile of seaweed and almost ran into him when he didn’t make way. “No, wait, never mind. I’m sure that was somehow insulting to someone.”

“Besides, Castiel would have my head if you end up as dead as what’s his name.”

“I really wish I knew. It was definitely G-something.”

You ordered a corndog, despite his rather vocal disgust at the concept of a hotdog on a stick covered in cornbread. As you threw your garbage away, you’d moved on to considering cotton candy, but a commotion broke out before you could make a decision. You turned around to see a rather large man holding Balthazar nearly off the ground by his lapels. Then you did many things in a very short order.

You panicked.

You grabbed a plank of wood from a convenient pile near a recently repaired food stand.

You swung the plank at the back of the large man’s head like it was the ball part of t-ball.

You may or may not have yelled, “Hi-yah!” in the heat of the moment.

What you did not do was take time to think or ask questions.

The man immediately collapsed to the ground as you stood over him poised to take another swing as soon as he tried to stand up. Only he didn’t. You looked up to find Balthazar gaping at you.

“What are you doing?”

You took a quick glance down at the unmoving body. “Not a bad angel?”

“No!”

“Oh…” You slowly let the wood lower until it touched the ground. “Oops…”

A crowd was starting to form, as they are wont to do in such situations. Balthazar growled a, “Bugger me,” and then he grabbed your arm and began to lead you away. The board fell the rest of the way to the ground with a muted thud. You rounded a corner and found yourself walking into the same dark, empty park as earlier, whenever that had been. 

Balthazar released his grip and rounded on you. “What was that?”

“I thought he was an angel!”

“And what were you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Be a distraction?”

Whatever he said next was in a language you don’t speak, but it sounded rude. Then he continued in English, still more to himself than you. “Now I see why Cas always has that constipated look on his face. You humans are like drunken toddlers trying to find an electrical socket in which to stick your grubby little fingers.”

“Hey! That’s uncalled for. I’m doing my best here.”

“Do less.” He’d gotten into your space, staring at you unblinkingly as heat rolled off him in waves until you could feel sweat trickle down the back of your neck. Maybe you looked scared, because the tight lines of his face smoothed out some as he straightened. He used both hands to point to himself. “Angel.” Then you. “Drunken toddler. Let me worry about safety, yes?”

“Fine. Sorry I tried to help.”

“You would be if that had really been an angel.”

“Why was he so mad at you anyway?”

“He believed I bumped into him as an intentional insult.”

“Did you?”

“As if I have the time.”

“I don’t know. You seem to have lots of time for insults.”

“Are you pouting?”

“No.” You sighed when his eyebrows rose, because even you were annoyed with your tone. “Maybe a little. What am I supposed to do if you’re in trouble? Just run away while you get murdered?”

“I have survived this long, and I have no intention of stopping any time soon. But should anything happen to me, you are to get yourself to safety and wait for Castiel.”

“That doesn’t help you, though, does it?”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

“I can’t exactly help it!”

You both paused for a moment, two seemingly intelligent beings squared up next to a half-empty sandbox while a nearby swing let out a squeak as a slight breeze kicked up and faded away almost immediately. You weren’t sure where this undefinable tension had come from, nor could you conceive of how to get rid of it. 

Fortunately, the issue resolved itself. 

His head twitched, eyes jumping to the distance. “Raphael has begun conjuring his portal.”

Okay, not so fortunate. 

“What do we do?”

“Listen,” his hands landed on your shoulders, heavy and hot and buzzing, “I’m going to send you in just before the moment of exchange. That should keep you from Raphael, but I don’t know what the situation on the other side looks like. If the Winchesters were smart, they’ve commandeered this transport, but that may possibly leave you with a very put out angel now trapped in another dimension.”

“And what do you recommend I do about him?”

One of his hands fell away and appeared in your eye line holding his angel blade. “Take this.”

“What for?”

“Aim for where a heart should be, and you should have a good enough shot at killing the bastard.”

“You want me to kill somebody?”

“Only if he tries to kill you first.” His free hand grabbed yours, and he pressed the blade into your palm until your fingers curled around the cold weight of it. 

“What about you? What if you have to stab somebody?”

“I’ll pick up another one. Now brace yourself-”

“Wait!”

“There’s no-” He cut off abruptly when your hand met his cheek as you kissed the other one. Something like a pulse of energy echoed over the skin of your hand that he still held, and you hoped he hadn’t inadvertently carved something into your metacarpal bones. 

“Thanks. Again.”

For once it seemed he didn’t have a comeback at the ready. Instead, his mouth merely tightened. The next second your hand dropped under the suddenly unsupported weight of the angel blade as you stared at a glowing square that was probably a window, if history was any indication. The second after that you seemed to be standing in the motel room again. But then, no wind whistled through the demolished window behind you, and you could see other sets through the hole in the nearby wall. 

You could also see the terrifying, stabby man on the floor, next to Gareth’s still very dead body. A body that sported a stab wound made by a blade not unlike the one you held. 

Oh crap. That was suspicious. You did not go through all this just to get pegged with murder charges. You shoved it into your boot, right before a police officer appeared. He took one look at the scene and your sallow face and leaned into his radio to call for backup.


	4. In which we have an epilogue.

By the time the bad angel started to stir, he was already cuffed. Apparently, he’d branched out from stabbing and had shot quite a few people to death. And maybe slit the throat of that one actor who was always on his cell phone (possibly live tweeting his murder). The two stars of the show were being questioned, as they’d apparently had an altercation with the suspect, though they couldn’t remember it. Or anything for the past two days, which was being attributed to their shared psychotic break that had them convinced they really were Sam and Dean Winchester. 

The show would be going on indefinite hiatus, due to the deaths of a large portion of the cast and crew.

Turns out, time had moved differently here, and you’d been missing for days instead of hours. Surprisingly (depressingly?), this made very little practical impact on your life. Your friend had assumed you’d hooked up with the page and abandoned her, though now she was all kinds of apologetic, considering you appeared to have been held hostage by a serial killer. You’d missed a day of work, but calling in kidnapped turned out to be a rather effective excuse. You didn’t have any pets to miss you, and your plant was as ambivalent as ever to your presence.

Maybe you should look into getting a hobby.

And then your life continued on as normal. If you didn’t count the large, ethereal dagger tucked into your underwear drawer. There was some kind of poetry in how the boots Jeremy (okay, not quite a G-word, but you’d been close) admired had saved you from being a suspect in his murder investigation. Instead, you were hardly a blip in the media’s radar, and avoided the largest share of its attention. Your hometown newspaper ran an article on your harrowing experience and subsequent return, right next to a coupon for melons at the local grocer’s. 

You went to work. You upgraded your cell phone plan. You canceled a magazine subscription. You paid the neighbors’ teenage son to mow your lawn, then rake your leaves, then shovel your snow, then back to the lawn. 

And then one day, as you flipped through your new Netflix subscription, someone knocked at your door. Once this would have given you mild PTSD, because really who just showed up without texting first these days besides murderous angels? But now, with life so obnoxiously normal, you didn’t hesitate to open the door wide. 

“Balthazar?”

“Hello, love. How much have you missed me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Lithely, he stepped past you and began what appeared to be a very judgmental walk down your front hall. “You are a very difficult person to track down. The police didn’t list an address in their report.”

“Yes, well, that’s so strange men don’t show up at my door.” The door you were still holding open as you stared after him. “Wait, if you’re here, who got sent back to your dimension?”

“No one. Cassie stabbed me, so technically there’s no presence in my home world that needed to be accounted for.”

“Castiel stabbed you?”

“Apparently, I was no longer needed, and he’s not one for loose ends.” He spun sharply, hands buried deep in the pockets of his long coat. “That’s a good way to get flies, darling.”

You shut the door. Crossed your arms. Leaned against it. “You never said what you’re doing here.”

“Have you already forgotten part where I mentioned the stabbing?” He found the doorway to your living room and disappeared through. With a huff, you pushed out of your lean and followed. 

“But why _here?_ Why go through all the trouble of tracking me down if it was so difficult?” You paused at the threshold, watching him survey the space until he deemed your couch an appropriate resting place. 

“I am new in town, bereft of powers in an unfamiliar land. I need someone to show me the ropes, so to speak. Do for me what I did for you.”

“Insult you a lot?”

“I did also save your life a few times.” He leaned back and dropped his heels on your coffee table, fingers lacing behind his head, looking for all the world like he didn’t intend to move any time soon. 

“Okay, but you do know you’re, like, a famous actor here, right? Or at least an actor. I guess I don’t know how famous you are.” You should probably Google him if he planned to regularly make himself comfortable on your couch. 

“Your point?”

“It’s going to look weird if you start hanging out with some no-name nobody.”

He momentary released his hold to wave a hand through the air. “Then we met on the set of that show, bonded over the trauma, became lifelong friends with subtle, unacknowledged sexual tension always simmering beneath the surface.”

“By definition, it’s not unacknowledged if you’ve said it out loud.”

“So you do admit to the sexual tension?”

“I don’t-” You paused, pressed your fingers to either side of your nose. “Fine. I’ll help you, but just until we figure out how to send you back.”

“Oh, I’m never going back there.”

Your eyes shot back open to stare at him past your hands. “Why not?”

“I’m dead there. If I go back, I’ll be dead.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Your arms burst away from your body with the force of your indignation and then fell limply back to your sides.

“One would think you’d have become accustomed to that by now.”

“You can’t just show up and take over someone else's life.”

“I don’t see why not. He is me, after all. And he’s making some terrible decisions. He wants to sign on to play a vampire. Can you imagine?”

“Creative differences do not justify body hijacking!”

“And what would you have me do? Would you rather I return and be dead?”

“No…” You began plucking at your sleeve, finding it hard to imagine him not existing _somewhere_. “Obviously I don’t want you dead.”

“Then what do you propose?”

You hesitated, fingers still fiddling. “You say… you’re the same person… just, like, a different facet? So… it’s not _really_ like a _Body Snatchers_ situation.”

There were those smirky smile lines again. “See, it’s not all that bad. “

“I’m still pretty sure it’s absolutely awful, and all I’ve done is make a huge rationalization.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

“So…what are you going to do? Keep up this guy’s acting career, minus the vampires?”

“I can’t say I’ve decided yet. I was in the process of accumulating experiences in my world, before I was so rudely recruited and subsequently murdered. Seems like that wouldn’t be a bad place to start.” His expression shifted again, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly how. “Care to join me?”

“…in accumulating experiences?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds just vague enough to be dangerous.”

“I think I’ve proven myself more than capable of protecting you.”

“Okay, number one: you said you don’t have powers here, so that makes you a drunken toddler, just like the rest of us. And number two: that’s not the kind of danger I was talking about.”

More smirk lines. Great. Was this going to be your life now?

But if it was your life, then it was also his life. His life where he wasn’t an angel of the Lord, where he couldn’t transport himself to Europe for a cappuccino on a whim, where he was going to have to trudge through his day like everyone else, except maybe with more famous-person perks, but definitely no magic.

“Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

“I already told you, I don’t know anyone else-”

“No, I don’t mean here in my house. I mean in this world. You’re only a human here. I’m sure there’s one where you’re an actual wizard or something. Are you sure you want to be normal when, with the whole infinite dimensions concept, there’s the possibility of being literally anything else?”

“Sweetheart,” he sat up straighter, dropped his feet to the floor and his hands to his knees, “being abnormal leads to expectations. Being powerful, say like an angel or a wizard, leads to fighting. Always. I have done my share. I gave my life to a war, only to realize I was on the wrong side again. I am done with battles and everything that leads to them. Now I plan to enjoy every second of my beautifully normal life, and if I can do that near someone who appears to give at least a little of a damn about me, well, that sounds like exactly where I want to be.”

Oh, that was you. You let your thoughts run through your brief time together, how clever and unflappable he’d been, and realized he’d probably get along just fine without an interdimensional tour guide. And the way he was looking at you didn’t say, ‘You’re my only option.’ No, it seemed more like you were the only option he wanted. You stopped fiddling with your sleeve and nodded slowly. “All love, no war.”

Turns out those lines by his eyes appear just as much for a genuine smile as for a smirk, maybe more so. “Best case scenario.”


End file.
